


Denial

by AmazonX



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Gen or Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-05-29
Updated: 2002-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 05:23:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11329431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmazonX/pseuds/AmazonX
Summary: Sometimes, you have to help your friends.





	Denial

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Denial

## Denial

#### by Amazon X

From: "Amazon X" <> Subject: [RatB-K] NEW FIC: DENIAL 1/1  
Date: Tuesday, April 23, 2002 7:48 PM 

Title: Denial  
Author: Amazon X  
E-Mail:   
Website: yankeestarbuck.tripod.com/   
Category: Gen, Alex POV  
Rating: R, for language  
Summary: Sometimes, you have to help your friends. Archive: Tell me where my babies live, just keep the 'nym. Disclaimers: I think CC can say he gives them up now. Notes: This was a post-ep challenge for "Jump the Shark" from Ursula, at "Alex H-C or D". She was very sad about the non-ep, and decided that if Alex is still around, the Three Musketeers are still around. This is for all Gunfen and Rat-lovers alike. Author's Notes: Thank you to Ursula for giving me this challenge. Mostly, thank you to my fabulous and amazing beta, Cynth, the woman without whom I cannot work. She is amazing at her job and she works wonders on my ego! I love you, woman, Godivas on their way to you! 

* * *

**COLORADO MOUNTAINS**  
**LATE MORNING**

I sipped at my coffee, looking down the slope at the rushing creek. The coffee burned my throat like acid. 

//Why did I agree to this? Oh, yeah, Mulder, that asshole.// 

I could still hear the whiney, nasal bickering from inside the cabin. I just wanted my arm fixed, nothing special. But Langly had to convince me he knew what he was doing with special modifications. I put my cup down to scrub my hand over my scraggly beard. I had given up shaving for the winter. I hadn't bothered since spring began months ago, either 

I heard the footsteps, but didn't move. Byers appeared beside me with my prosthesis. I took it from his hands. 

"Langly's finished with it, Krycek. You can put it on again." 

I unbuttoned my flannel shirt and began strapping it on. Byers continued to stand there and watch me. When I had the unit in place and tested it, to my surprise, it worked better than it had before. It was smoother and faster than it had been brand new. 

//Sonofabitch, that blond freak really can do this stuff well.// 

As I tested my new-ish limb, I noticed the brushed brown suede shoes still on the wooden boards. In an effort to unnerve the man, I slowly dragged my eyes up the length of his body. He just kept those deep blue saucers on me. 

//I never knew his eyes were that damn big.// 

"Can I help you?" I asked with a little more venom than necessary. 

"I thought it was a lie, you know. Before Mulder left, when he mentioned you...I mean, there was so much emotion when he talked about you. He said you were a liar. I thought that story about your arm was a lie. I guess I should have looked for the truth in you the way I looked for it in everyone else." 

"Yeah, well, maybe I never gave you much to look for." 

"I'm sorry, Krycek." 

"You _can_ use my given name, you know. It really _is_ Alex." 

"OK, Alex. You may call me John." 

"Got it, John. Hey, who made this coffee?" I lift my mug, showing him my cup of black, sweet liquid. 

"I think Langly did. It's...um...strong. Sorry. I think my coffee is better, don't you?" 

I raised the offensive brew to my lips. As my face returned to its usual serene expression, I turned to the bearded man. "You tell him that I don't care how many times he fixes my arm. If he ever makes coffee again, I'll kill him myself." 

I felt bad when the shock spread over Byers composed countenance. Yeah, I know, I'm a former assassin, but this coffee really is shit. He went in the house without another word. I chuckled a bit at my power to still shock the innocent. 

I stood and chucked the leftover half cup of mud into the grass, hoping it wouldn't kill the patch, turned and entered the cottage where I resided with the other three outcasts. Well, we're really not outcasts. We're hiding. Sorta. 

Langly and Frohike were at the worktable they had set up in the dining-room-turned-hobby-den. They said they wanted to be able to watch the TV while they worked, and the TV was in the living room. So we ate at the kitchen table. 

//Why did I let Walter send them here again? He's gonna have to pull strings to get _himself_ in Arlington if this doesn't get better.// 

I rinsed the mug in the sink and watched the three men working together. They were repairing the hard drive of one of the hidden satellite dishes. The sole reason we were in the mountains was to monitor the Northern Hemispheric skies. Mulder had his crew in Australia. 

//Lucky bastard, warm temps and some of the best fucking beer in the world. And the hottest chicks who love Americans, to boot. I get a cold mountain, three geeky guys and Coors. Fuck me!// 

They worked well together, as I watched them. They didn't speak to each other, maybe a few words here and there, but usually, they flowed around each other, just fixing the electronics, each with a different piece to repair. It was like poetry, ballet and magic in my presence. It was sad that they had to hide. What will THEY do to us next? 

That was it for me--and I knew I had to do something. I couldn't let this go. My "death" was simple. Fake bullets, hide me from THEM and Mulder and Skinner smell like roses for having taken out the triple agent threat. Then, they take their considerable collective wealth and hide me until I come back out. Not a bad trade. When Skinner contacted me, and Mulder sent the message almost begging me, to help these three, I was none too happy. 

After almost a month of living with them, I was coming around to their unique charms. We were stuck with each other. I needed their technological know-how, they needed my protection, just in case. It was interesting to see the looks on their faces when they saw my arsenal. Byers was frightened, Langly was impressed like a teenager, and Frohike looked almost aroused. 

It was interesting to see their differences. Langly was eager to learn how to shoot weapons, for protection. Frohike, he knew his way around a rifle. Byers was the hard sell. He settled on the basics of a handgun, knowing he could never take up one of my high-powered sniper jobs against another person, even in his own defense. But he makes a hell of a cup of coffee. 

So, I think I have come to the right decision. And the sad part is, they'll never know. 

* * *

**WASHINGTON DC**  
**OFFICES OF RUNTZ CORP.**

I waited for almost four hours before I heard the footsteps in the hall. I heard him scrape his lazy feet down the carpeted floor. 

//He's drunk. Good.// 

The door opened and he staggered in. I could smell the bourbon across the room, wafting over to choke me with smoky alcoholic fingers. It didn't stop me from raising the gun to shoulder level, waiting for him to see it when he turned the light on. 

The lights blinded me slightly, but my hand never moved. His eyes widened when he recognized the shape of the Glock 19 in my hand. The smile grew across his lips and I waited for him to start trying to beg me into letting him live. 

//Does the dumb shit even realize I'm not wearing a mask to disguise myself?// 

"Hey, buddy, what's the deal here? Can't we discuss this?" 

I laughed at him. 

"What's your name, pal?" 

"Why do you give a fuck?" 

"Well, I mean, you know me. Why shouldn't I know you?" 

"I only know you because you ruined the lives of some friends of mine." 

"Oh, gawd, this again? Look, I was doing what I was paid to do. Her father is my boss. Just because they lost their minds and gave away all their money to find her isn't my problem. Now, why don't you put away the gun and let's discuss this. I mean, I'm sure we can come to a...monetary understanding. You think?" 

"Fletcher, you couldn't pay me enough." 

"Krycek! That's who you are! Alex Krycek! Aren't you dead?" 

He cocked his head to the side, still drunk, and realizing a nanosecond too late that I wasn't kidding. 

"No, but you are," and I began squeezing off rounds. He fell slowly. I smiled as I watched the life flow out of him, my pleasure to his pain as iodine to a gaping wound. I even chuckled as he reached out to me, to try to get help. I stepped on his hand as I left his office. 

* * *

**COLORADO MOUNTAINS**  
**LATE EVENING**

I sat on the back porch, drinking Byers' coffee, watching the last magenta and purple of sunset fade beyond the trees. The satellites were humming under the trickle of the creek, lulling me into contentedness. I sipped the brew in the cup, smiling. The footsteps creaked along the boards behind me and the chair beside me became filled with Melvin Frohike. I turned to him and smiled. He smiled back. We looked up into the sky, I counted stars, and he watched me. 

//They stare a lot. I didn't think I was this pretty. I'm sleeping with the Glock under my pillow.// 

I turned to the man at my right. "OK, Mel, what's up?" 

"Al, where were you two weeks ago?" 

"Why? Does it really matter?" 

He smiled, chuckled silently and shook his head. "Did you kill him?" 

"I don't know what you're talking about." 

Frohike stood up and walked to the door. He stood in the open frame looking at me. I continued staring at the sky. 

"Aleksandr Nicholai Kryska, you can't fool me. Melvin James Frohike is smarter than that. So is John Fitzgerald Byers and Ringo Patrick Langly. Skinner called us. Morris Fletcher was found dead, shot in the heart, head and genitals. I assume the heart was for John, the emotional one, the head was for Langly, the brainy one and the balls were all mine." 

"Well, maybe you're a ballsy kinda guy." 

He turned to leave. I had to ask. 

"Mel, one thing though?" 

He turned back to me. "What's that?" 

"Ringo? I thought his name was Richard." 

The smile spread across his stubbled face. "Looks like you've got quite a bit to learn about us, too." 

I laughed as he went inside. I felt comfortable at that moment. Not as comfortable as I could have been, with a Foster's and a hot lady, but I was contented. Soon enough Skinner et al. would figure a way to finally defeat THEM and we could integrate back into the world. Would I miss my friends? 

//My friends?// 

Yeah, I'd miss my friends. 

For all Gunfen and Rat-lovers alike. No one is dead until Scully autopsies them. 

* * *

Read me at http://yankeestarbuck.tripod.com 

* * *

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Amazon X 


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